


One Fail Over a Cuckoos' Date

by FireWithFire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Failwolf Friday, First Date, Fluff, Ice Cream, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireWithFire/pseuds/FireWithFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after the date goes as well as it could (except some crazy stuff, of course), there's the hidden Failwolf and the crouching moron inside Derek Hale ready to jump in and screw up. Temporarily. Stiles is very forgiving if you're one hot piece of werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Fail Over a Cuckoos' Date

“Go, for God’s sake, go! You’re going to be late, dumbass!”

 

“Shut up, Scott! Tell me, which shirt looks best? The navy blue one, or the white one with blue stripes? Oh, but the white one doesn’t go with the belt, does it? Does it?”

 

“Oh my God, how do I know, Stiles, I’m not a stylist. Why is that so important?”

 

Stiles huffed angrily, turning from the mirror.

 

“Scott, it is important, because it is my first regular date! And not with some klutz, Scott, I have a date with Derek _freakin’_ Hale, in his own wereflesh!”

 

Scott took a deep breath.

 

“I know. It’s all you’ve been talking about for the past six hours... Why do you even care? He’s seen you dirty, beaten up, tired, paralyzed, wet and scared to the point of wetting yourself. Do you really think he’s going to care what you’re wearing?”

 

“See, you can think if you really really try... So, a hoodie?”

 

“It’ll be just fine.”

 

*

 

Stiles had yet another issue to resolve, now that Scott was gone. Then he’d still had about an hour until Derek was supposed to come and pick him up, and he’d decided to take a shower. Just in case, you never know with them werewolfy noses. But then, then came the dilemma. To use cologne, or not? Maybe just a bit of perfume? Or maybe nothing at all? But it was a date, after all, or so had Derek called it, finally.

 

Alright, no artificial scents. Tonight, he’ll just smell like himself, a manly man, just a strong, charming, independent smell of a young male, a musky--

_Whoa. If I go through that door, then hold me close young Tony Danza..._

 

It all went just fine up to the point where he had forgotten which outfit he was supposed to choose. All his clothes were spread all over the room and none of them made sense to him at this point. And his time was running out. Frankly, date or no date, he was pretty much sure that Derek would make a point of eviscerating him if he runs too late.

 

*

 

“Oh for crying out loud, if you cancel on him, you’re just plain dumb and I refuse to admit to ever being related to you in any way.”

 

“What, I was just wondering--”

 

“Derek, don’t,” Isaac interrupted. “It’ll crush both of you and you know that. Face the music, you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known him.”

 

“Listen to the puppyboy,” Peter agreed. “You guys are going to be great together.”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek said in this dark voice he could only reach for when it was needed and necessary. “I feel like it’s going to be a huge let-down. We’re going to go somewhere, do something--”

 

“Oh, you’ll be doing something indeed,” Peter whispered.

 

“-- and it’ll all turn out to be a flop. You know, no connection whatsoever, nothing to talk about. What if he thinks I’m boring, what if he’s not that interested, what if--”

 

“What if I punch you in the throat so hard you’ll be looking for your windpipe in Colorado?”, Peter asked, using his overly-sweet voice. That one was his specialty, and it was reserved only for when someone was behaving like a brat.

 

“Go to hell, both of you. I have to get ready,” Derek growled at them.

 

Peter pushed Isaac out and walked through the door himself. He was about to pile in with another comment, maybe about Derek needing help with make-up, maybe, but decided to let that one slip. He’ll make up for it _(Peter, you are one funny pun master)_ later.

 

Meanwhile, Derek sat heavily on his bed. Somehow, all the thrill and that butterflies-in-his-stomach thing was gone now that the date approached. Right now, he felt those cold pangs of panic down in his insides. Nothing seemed right at this point. He hated the shirt that he picked, he hated his cologne and his hair. God, his hair! It was a mess, an actual, real mess. He made them a bit more... polite, a pinch less spiky than usual. And now, it seemed dumb, he felt bad with having it this way, even though an hour ago it seemed great.

 

He was seriously worried. He’d had great expectations as to what will they do. How will they do the date stuff. He’d made plans and worked out all of the possible outcomes in his head for dozens and dozens of times. Sitting on his bed, he thought of at least a hundred more things that could go wrong, and couldn’t figure out how to make them go away if they happen. Stiles was pretty much unpredictable, that’s what made him... irresistible?, but that also made him a huge pile of trouble.

 

He was seriously freaked out. He grabbed his phone and had half a mind to text Stiles and cancel this whole sham before it goes out of hand.

 

*

 

Stiles felt remotely comfortable and somewhat ready to go out and... go out with Derek. All he was waiting for was for the clock to strike eight. Figuratively, of course, there was not a single grandfather clock nor a cuckoo clock in the house, because let’s face it, they were oh so stylish, but also oh so obnoxious, loud and scary in the middle of the night and Stiles was pretty much sure that his dad would shoot the cuckoo in the beak after no more than four hours and send the clock back to grandpa’s after three, tops.

 

As soon as his phone started beeping (he’d set an alarm so as not to be late under no circumstances), he rushed off to the window. He peeked out to see Derek’s Camaro parking outside. He sprung out of his room, grabbed his hoodie and ran down, stopping right in front of the front door. He didn’t want Derek to know how much he actually cared. He wanted to seem a bit carefree, relaxed. He opened the door and went to meet Derek Hale next to his awesome Camaro.

 

As soon as he closed the gate behind him and finally could get a closer look at alpha, and he felt like someone punched him in the chest. He froze still and just looked.

 

Derek put on a black shirt, very much slim fit, highlighting his impeccable muscles, and God, he looked like a Greek sculpture or something and putting on clothes should be illegal for him, but putting on clothes that make him even more handsome while revealing quite a lot is just not fair, just plain _not fair_. Stiles could feel his ears burn even more than his face did, good that it was getting a bit dark so maybe Derek wouldn’t notice but he’s a werewolf of course he’d notice oh my God that’s off to a _great_ start, Stilinski.

 

Then Stiles realized that he was wearing a _hoodie_. Here he was, Derek Hale, dressed up to the nines, he even did something with his hair, had that whole bad-boy-turned-good air around him now, and Stiles couldn’t care enough to put on a stupid white shirt with _freaking_ blue stripes. His eyes widened and he gasped involuntarily at this realisation.

 

“Oh, um, I can run up and quickly change into something more--”

 

“You look great,” Derek interrupted him, smiling a bit. “I really like your hoodies, you know.”

 

“Oh, so, you don’t mind that-- I mean, you look-- Jesus, dude, you look like a million bucks, I mean, oh come on, you knew that shirt is just so awesome on you, didn’t you--”

 

“Stiles, we have a place to be at in about twenty minutes,” Derek said, smiling again and that was just unsettling, cute, sexy, unsettling smile, because Derek had never smiled just because before, he’d always smile sarcastically, but rarely like that. “Could we go now?”

 

Stiles nodded enthusiastically and went to the passenger’s seat. He fastened his seatbelt and, accidentally, their hands touched as Derek was doing the same thing. Their eyes met and they both smiled and quickly turned away, blushing like crazy.

 

It is highly possible, that neither of them could actually believe they were about to go through with the date, but on the other hand neither of them could envision themselves anywhere else now, anywhere that’s not here, that’s not the date-thing they were about to do.

 

Derek drove them to a restaurant on the other side of the town. It looked nice, lanterns and bushes in the front, and the Italian flag over the entrance kind of gave the impression what cuisine do they serve.

 

“This place looks fancy,” Stiles muttered.

 

“It’s nice, you’ll like it, I hope.”

 

Stiles quickly calculated how much money did he actually bring with him and tried to judge whether or not could he order more than an appetizer here.

 

When they came inside, Stiles thought that was how he’d always imagined this little _trattoria_ on a tiny street of Verona of Venice could look just like that. They were seated at the table in another room (there were three, apparently?), in a place secluded from people who might recognise any of them, especially Derek from the papers of from the news as the possible suspect for murdering a bunch of people.

 

Looking at the menu, Stiles realized there were no prices in it and dishes were listed in no particular order. He was baffled, a bit lost as to what he actually could order, giving his limited budget.

 

“Could I see your menu?”, he asked Derek. “Mine’s quite odd.”

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

“I won’t give you mine, mine has the prices in it.”

 

“I figured that much!”

 

“Why would you want to see the menu with prices?”, Derek asked, apparently having great fun in teasing Stiles.

 

 

“Maybe because I--”

 

“You’re not paying for dinner, I hope you’re aware of that. I invited you, therefore I pay. This is our first date. If you invite me, you can pay for whatever you like, we can go halves or whatever you’d like. But now, it’s my treat, okay?”

 

“Fiiiine,” Stiles sighed. “But I’m not going to limit myself food-wise, then, just so we’re clear,” he added, grinning.

 

“I hope you won’t.”

 

So he ordered some kind of pasta in a tomato sauce which was not called “bolognese”, and had a lot of extra ingredients. Just reading them made Stiles’ mouth water, so he figured the actual dish must be awesome. Derek decided on something with a long Italian name, and how the hell did Derek ever learn to pronounce Italian words so smoothly? All that Stiles got from that was “risotto”. And, he ordered two glasses of wine, white and red, and he had to be some kind of a regular here, because the waiter didn’t even look at Stiles, so much as question him about his age, and let’s face it, there’s no way he looked old enough to drink.

 

They immediately struck up a conversation, and Derek finally felt in the right place. This time, he almost forgot that he had ever _had_ any worries about this date. It felt right now, like he had finally found a true friend in Stiles. Plus, the boy was awfully cute and he just couldn’t stop staring at him all the time, mostly because he liked it, but also because it made Stiles blush every time he realised Derek’s eyes are fixed on him.

 

“You have a bit of sauce on your face,” Derek laughed at some point.

 

“What? Aw damn. Where?”

 

“Here, let me...”, he said before realising what he was doing, and before he even knew, his hand reached out on its own, touched Stiles’ face and wiped the tiny spot of red sauce (which might’ve as well been his brain’s excuse to do that cosmically cheesy move) off.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and, surprise surprise, blushed again.

 

Derek just melted inside. Why, how could he ever be worried about this date?

 

*

 

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Stiles said quietly when they walked back to the Camaro.

 

“Neither do I,” Derek whispered back.

 

“There’s a nice place we could get ice cream from at this hour,” Stiles suggested. “Do you-- I mean, are you-- Do you even like ice cream?”

 

“Of course I do, who doesn’t?”, Derek answered, laughing, as he sat behind the wheel. “Lead the way.”

 

Stiles was lost at first, since it wasn’t the usual place from which he would start walking to the ice cream shop, but somehow they managed to get there. It was, as Stiles had said, still open, which was weird, because it was almost eleven (Derek couldn’t help but wonder how did all that time pass over a meal and a glass of wine). But the shop was located next to a park, beautifully lit and really scenic at this time.

 

“It was my idea,” Stiles said, turning around when they were halfway to the door. “So this time, I’m paying for you.”

 

“Honestly? I saw that one coming,” Derek said, smiling. He felt that Stiles really needed to show that he wasn’t helpless, that he didn’t need to be funded by someone, and he probably just had to show off some of his guy-feathers here. Frankly, Derek was quite okay with that. It probably made him seem a bit less... flashy?

 

“Alright, so, I was thinking, maybe we could get those swirly ones in a cone, and take a walk in the park while getting brain freeze?”, Stiles said inside. Derek nodded. “There’s... vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, or mix of any two. Which one for you? I want a strawberry one.”

 

“Get me a vanilla-chocolate. By the way, I always figured you’d be more of a vanilla type of guy.”

 

“Me? Vanilla? No way. Scott is _so_ vanilla it hurts, think about it, high school, and the guy has no kinky fantasies, is that even healthy? I mean, not that I’m into anything particularly kinky, or weird, but come on, I’m actually into a werewolf, what does that say about me, huh? It’s not that I’m going to win any normal people prizes anyway, but that’s just making things... weirder? In a good way, no, in an _awesome_ way. Don’t give me that look, you know very well - thank you - you know very well that I like you a lot,” Stiles just couldn’t stop talking, even as the girl behind the counter handed him the cones and shot them a look full of interest, like she couldn’t wait for them to kiss right there. “Don’t pretend you can’t sniff it on me. But trust me, I’m not vanilla, but healthy non-vanilla. Really. Why are you looking at me like that?”, he asked when they got out of the shop.

 

“Because I was talking about ice cream flavors, Stiles, seriously,” Derek said, amused more than he would be willing to admit.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Let’s go find a nice bench to sit on, there’s a pond in here somewhere, isn’t it?”

 

Stiles refused to speak. He was more red than ever. Derek tried with all his might not to laugh, but it was just so funny. Poor kid, once he got into that adorable rambling stage, when someone caught him off guard, when he didn’t know what to say, he just went on talking about the first thing that came into his mind.

 

Still, it was nice to know, for the future, that he might have some fantasies waiting to be tried out in practice. Derek might’ve had some of his own he could see Stiles in.

 

They did find the pond Derek was talking about, and they did find a very nicely located bench. They sat down and watched the ducks. Derek could see Stiles was boiling inside, visibly wanting to say something.

 

“What?”, Derek asked, just to start him.

 

“Do you-- Do any of you ever get the need to, I don’t know, chase those ducks, of other wildlife? You know, there’s a wolf in you, right, and a wolf is a dog before he went good, and dogs chase ducks, so I was thinking--”

 

“No, Stiles, we don’t want to chase ducks. It’s unsanitary as hell.”

 

Stiles seemed to be pleased with the answer, like he was worried Derek might run off any minute now to go and play tag with the local poultry. Satisfied, he went on to his pink, strawberry ice cream, and Derek glimpsed just the right moment.

 

Stiles licked the tall ice cream all the way up from the cone and took the top part in his mouth and sucked on it. Alpha blinked a couple of times, stunned and utterly aroused by that view. And, what was worse (so to speak), Stiles seemed completely unaware of how sexy and provocative he looked right now.

 

“Derek, you’re dripping,” he heard him say.

 

“What?” Because, how could Stiles know that? Even if that was true (and it was, come on, who in their right mind would not get crazy hard and crazy horny watching this show?), he couldn’t know!

 

“Your ice cream? It’s melting, you’re going to get your jeans stained,” Stiles explained, licking his lips and almost driving Derek over the edge.

 

Alpha realized what he meant and looked down. Vanilla and chocolate streams ran down his fingers and dripped on the ground between his legs. Derek licked around the cone a couple of times to buy some time and took the ice cream in left hand. His right one was all sweet and sticky, so he licked his palm and his fingers.

 

And Stiles’ hormones went absolutely bananas. He was watching Derek Hale lick his fingers. Actually, _he_ wanted to lick Derek’s fingers, and then maybe suck on them a little, oh God, just like Derek did right that moment. He just looked so incredibly innocent, like he was so free of any care in the world, just sitting here with Stiles, eating ice cream and licking his fingers oh God somebody make him stop that’s just so not fair, no zippers in any jeans were designed to experience such pressure and Stiles was pretty sure he got a bit lightheaded, since most of his blood had found a better place to throw a party _(In your pants. Party in your pants. And Derek’s most definitely invited. Stiles you funny bastard you.)_.

 

They finished the ice cream in silence, each contemplating his own arousal. And, surprisingly enough, they both felt really comfortable not speaking, just as they did when they couldn’t shut up for a minute. They both felt right. Seriously, they should’ve done this date-thing long, long time ago.

 

*

 

Derek drove Stiles right back to his house, like a true gentleman would. They started talking some time before, and were in the middle of a discussion, so they both went out of the car. Derek walked Stiles to the porch.

 

“I had a really great time, you know,” Stiles said, smiling.

 

“I know, I did too.”

 

“I had no idea you could be so-- Uh, lacking a better word, I’d say, so romantic.”

 

“I can. There’s still some things about me you are to discover,” Derek said mysteriously.

 

“Do you-- Would you like to come in? My dad’s out of town, he’s upstate at my aunt’s, and he wouldn’t be back until Sunday, and it just Friday, well, Saturday, for half an hour now, but still, would you like to come in?”

 

Derek’s mind went into full panic. He was really hoping this would happen today, they could make the date longer, much longer, watch a movie, play something, cuddle all night long, maybe more, but not necessary, depending on how it all works out. He dreamed he could never again leave Stiles and would never have to walk him back to his home, and return to his own empty loft alone. Derek was the happiest guy around.

 

“No, thanks, I need to get some sleep, you know, training my betas tomorrow and stuff,” he said.

 

“Oh, okay, good, you’re responsible. Well, thanks anyway, and I’ll see you soon, right?”, Stiles asked.

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Come back home safe,” Stiles mumbled and leaned forward and kissed Derek, lightly, in the corner of his mouth, before he turned and went into the house.

 

Derek went to his Camaro and slammed the wheel. What the hell? Why did he say something that stupid? Of course he wanted to go inside! Oh God, he probably had just ruined everything he managed to work on this evening. His stocks probably just went 2011 Greece low.

 

He started the car and drove away, burning his tires in the process.

 

*

 

Stiles went upstairs, shuffling and grunting under his breath. Why didn’t Derek want to come in? He thought the date went awesome, but apparently it wasn't a commonly shared point of view. Something must’ve threw Derek off, probably something Stiles did in the course of events. He took off his hoodie and hurled it over the bed, and took off his shirt. He wanted to take a shower, not only because he wanted to clean himself.

 

He was looking for some comfortable boxers to sleep in tonight, since it got really warm, and heard tapping on the window behind his back.

 

“Come in, Scott,” he said, still looking into the drawer. “But I’m most definitely not telling you how it went. I mean, I thought it went fine, but he obviously didn’t, but no, not today, I’ll tell you tomorrow, when I figure it all out myself--”

 

Stiles stopped, because he felt strong arms wrapping around his naked torso, a warm body pressing to his back and stubble scratching his neck.

 

“Did the big dumb wolf tell you he had to get his beauty sleep and ditched you?”, he heard words whispered right next to his ear, and could feel warm breath on his cheek.

 

“Kind of, yeah. This dumb moron could not sleep for ages and still would be drop dead handsome,” Stiles answered, nestling comfortably in Derek’s embrace.

 

“Could you forgive him and let him come in anyway?”

 

“Could he apologise and throw in a kiss?”

 

“He could throw in as much as you like.”

 

“I was about to go take a shower.”

 

“Is that a private party, or can anyone join?”

 

“It’s private, but I can get you on the list if you take off your shirt.”

 

“So if I flash the bouncer, I’ll get in?”

 

“Yeah. Come on, repay me for being a dumbass.”

 

“Oh, I will, you just wait...”


End file.
